. Emblems, divine and moral . seA happy tear, close harbring in his urge his plighted faith, the sacred vows. Which neither I can break, nor he deny;Bewail the torment of his loyal spouse, That for his sake would make a sport to die:O blessed virgins, how my passion tiresBeneath the burden of her fond desires!Heavn never shot such flames, earth never felt suchfires! 260 EMBLEMS. BOOK 5. S. AvGvsT. Med. Cap. xKWhat shall I say ? what shall I do ? whither shall1 go? where shall I seek, him? or when shall I findhim ? whom shall I ask ? who will tell my belovedthat I am sick of love ? GuL
. Emblems, divine and moral . seA happy tear, close harbring in his urge his plighted faith, the sacred vows. Which neither I can break, nor he deny;Bewail the torment of his loyal spouse, That for his sake would make a sport to die:O blessed virgins, how my passion tiresBeneath the burden of her fond desires!Heavn never shot such flames, earth never felt suchfires! 260 EMBLEMS. BOOK 5. S. AvGvsT. Med. Cap. xKWhat shall I say ? what shall I do ? whither shall1 go? where shall I seek, him? or when shall I findhim ? whom shall I ask ? who will tell my belovedthat I am sick of love ? GuLiEL. in Cap. v. Ca7it. I live, but not T: it is my beloved that liveth inme: I love, myself, not with my own love, butwith the love of my beloved that loveth me: Ilove not myself in myself, but myself in him, andhim in me. Epig. not, my soul, nor let thy love wax faint:Weepst thou to lose the cause of thy complaint?Hell come; love neer was bound to times nor laws :Till then thy tears complain without a cause. nooK .5. 201 CANTICLES II. Stay me icith/totcers, and comfort me with apples,forI am sick of love. \J TYRANT love ! how doth thy sovreign powrSubject poor souls to thy imperious thrall! They say, thy cups composd of sweet and sour;They say thy diets honey mixd with gall; How comes it then to pass these lips of oursStill trade in bitter; taste no sweet at alP 262 EMBLEMS. BOOK 5. O tyrant love! shall our perpetual toilNeer find a sabbath to refresh awhileOur drooping souls? art thou all frowns, and neer asmile ? Ye blessed maids of honour, that frequent The royal courts of our renownd Jehove,)Vithflowers restore my spirits faint and spent;O fetch me^appTes^ from loves fruitful grove,To cool my palate, and renew my I am sick, for I am sick of love : These will revive my dry, my wasted they will sweeten my unsavry hours;Refresh me then with fruit, and comfort me withflowers. ~ O bring me apples to assuage that fire. Which, jEtna-like,inflames my
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